


Alone

by TeaRoses



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaRoses/pseuds/TeaRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to find his son, all Douglas can offer Frank is a little companionship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

The detective looked like he was at least fifty, almost as old as Frank himself. Frank hadn't been sure how much confidence he had in him when he went to his office to hire him, with his old suit and patchy beard, but he couldn't afford anyone else. Now the man was sitting on Frank's couch, telling him James simply could not be found.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sunderland. You may not believe me, but I worked hard looking for your son and his wife."

"I do believe you," Frank replied. And actually, he did. Douglas Cartland still didn't exactly look impressive but he looked both tired and sincere. "And Mary, well... I'm sure she must have passed away by now, one way or the other -- like I said, she was very ill. But as for James, you're sure?"

"I'm sure. I found a gas station attendant who said he saw him on the road to Silent Hill around that time. But when I got there, I couldn't find anyone who admitted to seeing him or Mary."

"I can't afford to pay you for any more of your time, Mr. Cartland." He could barely afford the money he'd already given him. "Maybe I should go to Silent Hill myself, ask around--"

"Don't."

Frank looked into the detective's eyes. "Don't go?"

Douglas nodded. "Yeah, don't. Silent Hill is not a place you want to go asking questions in."

"It's just a small town, out there by the lake, isn't it?" asked Frank.

"Right, but I went to the wrong church asking about James and ran into some really scary people. They don't like questions there. I'm just being honest with you. You seem like a nice man; I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

"Do you think James is dead, Mr. Cartland?"

The detective sighed. "I honestly don't know. But... I think that's the most likely possibility. You said he would have contacted you if he weren't."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I guess I should have been prepared to hear that." He had known there wasn't really any hope, hadn't he? Not after all this time.

Douglas reached over and gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "I'm really sorry. This is the part of being a private detective that I always hate."

Frank looked up. "It's just -- either James is dead, or he's out there somewhere not bothering to contact me. I mean, I hope it's that, but he was my son and I thought he loved me!" He felt tears come to his eyes and blinked them away, feeling ridiculous. "Do you think those crazy people in the church had something to do with what happened to James?"

Douglas shook his head. "No. If I'd have thought that, I'd have done something about it. You paid me, and I wouldn't have let them scare me away. But I really don't think they knew anything about your son."

Frank sighed. "Well, thank you. I believe you gave me my money's worth, and I appreciate it."

On the coffee table sat a manila folder holding Mr. Cartland's report. Frank didn't really want to open it. It didn't matter anymore, what it said. James was gone. And suddenly Frank didn't want to be alone right now.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Cartland?" he asked.

The detective raised his eyebrows as if he were surprised, but said, "I never turn down a drink. And you can call me Douglas."

"OK. Call me Frank, then. Do you like bourbon?"

"Sure. Straight, if you don't mind."

Frank poured two drinks and brought them and the bottle back to the coffee table. Douglas took a sip. "Good stuff," he said softly.

"My wife always used to insist on it," said Frank.

"Your wife is..."

"Dead. Over twenty years now. At least she didn't live to see this," said Frank bitterly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... Are you married yourself?"

"Divorced," said Douglas. "You never remarried?"

"No," said Frank, shaking his head. "I never... I'm a private type of person, plus not many women want to raise someone else's child. People told me to send James to my wife's parents to live, but I couldn't. They didn't like me, anyway."

"Why not?"

"They wanted her to go to college, and she didn't because of me," said Frank.

"A shotgun wedding?"

"No. James was born years after we were married. But we did get married really young." He took a sip. "I haven't heard that expression in ages, shotgun wedding."

"Well, I grew up hearing it. But I'm fifty-two already."

"I'm older than you. Ten years older."

Douglas drank the last of his drink. "Nothing like the good old days."

"Really?" asked Frank.

"Well, nothing like them, but they weren't always good."

"I hear you," said Frank. "We were poor. I'm not exactly rich now, but we were really poor."

He took Douglas's empty glass and poured him another drink.

"Yeah," the detective said, nodding his thanks. "I'm not raking in the cash either, but my mother could remember doing laundry on a washboard."

"When I was really young we lived in a little place my father built himself," Frank said, finishing his own first drink and starting another. "And with all due respect to the man, he wasn't exactly an architect."

Douglas laughed, then said, "Sorry." 

"No, hey, it's OK," said Frank, trying to smile back. "We had Elvis though."

"An Elvis fan? Yeah, they don't make performers like that anymore; I don't care what people say about the damn Vegas years."

"You got that right. What do you think of Frank Sinatra?" asked Frank. "To be honest I never cared for him."

"To hell with Frank Sinatra," said Douglas, reaching for the bottle and pouring more for both of them. "I never liked him worth a damn either. Smarmy."

"It's worse when people tease you because your name is Frank, trust me."

By the time the third glasses were finished, the two men had moved on to sports teams and old television shows.

"I kind of like T.V. better now," Frank confessed. "Law and Order, that's a good show."

"Well, if I never see another show that makes the private detective business look like fun it will be too soon."

Frank laughed. "Yeah, I guess that gets pretty bad for you."

"I spend tons of time trying to look in people's windows to see if they're ripping off insurance companies, and zero time with beautiful mixed-up women, or capturing bad guys before the police get there. And it was worse when I was a cop; those shows are ridiculous too."

"You were a cop?"

"Yeah, lots of P.I.s start that way. I was on the force back in California, back when I lived with my wife."

"Do you miss her?" asked Frank, wondering if that was an obnoxious question but not really caring after this much alcohol.

"Sometimes, but she sure as hell doesn't miss me." Douglas sighed. "I should go home."

"I think you've had a little too much to drive right now," Frank said. "You're welcome to my couch."

Frank wondered if Douglas would argue, but he just nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it. What's the superintendent business like?" he asked.

"Boring," said Frank, in a slightly loud, alcohol-influenced voice. "Which is lucky I guess. Though if I had fewer tenants like Braintree I'd be a happier man. He gives me the damn creeps. And there's some young guy keeps playing loud music and inviting his noisy friends to visit; I'm going to have to kick him out if he doesn't knock it off."

"Kids today," said Douglas, slurring his words slightly. "They have no respect." He stared at his glass. "Did I just say that? To hell with that, we didn't have any respect either. I'm really getting old, to say a thing like that."

Frank realized he hadn't even asked his next question. "Do you have kids, Douglas?" 

"I... had a son. Geoffrey. He died."

Frank noticed that Douglas was wiping at his eyes, and felt guilty. "I'm sorry. How did he--"

"He was shot robbing a bank," muttered Douglas. "Fool kid. If I could have given him more maybe he wouldn't have done it." 

Now Frank could see actual tears. He sat down next to Douglas on the couch and put one arm around him. He wasn't good with touching people, physically or otherwise, but now he understood only too well how Douglas felt.

The next thing he knew Douglas had grabbed him and was holding him very close. He didn't let go, until Frank finally began to wonder if this was ordinary drunken affection or some kind of pass. The thing was, he wasn't entirely certain he minded either way.

He didn't think about it often, but back when he was a teenager one of his buddies had grabbed him like this one day when they were sneaking cigarettes behind a warehouse. Frank had taken him up on what he was offering, more out of surprise than anything else. It hadn't been much, just a little rubbing and touching. And Frank had already known he liked girls, even if he didn't have much luck with them. But though neither of them had ever mentioned it again, Frank had liked it. Maybe a little too much. And this was definitely reminding him of that experience all over again.

Douglas looked at him, his face very near Frank's. "I'm probably just annoying you," he muttered, moving away slightly.

And Frank kissed him on the mouth. It was weird as hell, and scratchy kissing someone with a beard, but a kiss was a kiss and right now Frank didn't care. 

"You all right?" Douglas asked, interrupting for a moment.

Frank nodded. "I'm fine." And he was. "You?" asked Frank hopefully. Douglas was drunk, but not too drunk to realize he was kissing a man. Maybe he did this a lot; Frank didn't know and didn't want to start that conversation now.

"Sure, I'm OK."

Douglas smelled like bourbon and cigarettes, and his jacket was rough under Frank's hands. They kept kissing, still holding each other, Frank a little surprised at how enjoyable he found it. Maybe this was alcohol or desperation, but it was still good, Douglas's mouth warm against his and his arms strong. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed. It made him feel like someone cared, even if this man was practically a stranger. And he was getting turned on, now; he had to admit that too. 

Just as he was wondering how far they were going to take this, he felt Douglas's hand on the front of his pants. Slowly and carefully, he unzipped them, and felt the other man reach inside to stroke him. He gasped softly, and moved his hips. This was what he needed. "Are you..." he began.

"I'm fine." Douglas just kept touching him, a little awkwardly but it was working. Frank closed his eyes, trying not to think but just to feel Douglas's hand curled around him. In a few minutes he realized he was going to come. He felt a little dizzy, and he couldn't stop himself. Arching his back, he gave a harsh pant and just let go.

Now he felt ridiculous, sitting on his couch like this with his pants down, in a clinch with another man. But he didn't want to get up. Moving away slightly, he zipped his pants. Douglas's head was on his shoulder, his eyes closed. Frank just breathed for a while. Was he going to regret this when he was sober? He actually didn't think so.

Just as Frank was about to ask if he should return the favor, he realized that Douglas was asleep on his shoulder. He looked peaceful there, the ghost of tears still in his eyes, and Frank didn't move. Later he'd have to drag himself to bed, maybe bring Douglas with him if he wanted. But meanwhile he just sat, resting his head against Douglas's, feeling warm and almost safe and not at all alone.


End file.
